When Everything is Done
by KelliP
Summary: She refuses to believe this is how their great story ends.
1. Chapter 1

Another old story pulled from my laptop. It has five parts (potentially six) and has been re-written a little and now includes a spoiler or two for season six. Cue gasp.

Honestly, though, if you haven't already seen the spoiler I'd be very surprised. Still, you've been warned.

Edit: Some of you are concerned about where this is going. It's not a death fic, 'kay? Just know that.

* * *

**When Everything is Done**

**One**

When she wakes in the morning, she should have already known.

The cloud is heavy and dark, already settling in over her head when she startles awake on a gasp. Her mind is the same, the fog a deep grey, but it's not with sleep. No. The blackness is too raw, sharp and suffocating. She chokes down a ragged breath as a wave of panic and overwhelming grief swallows her whole.

"Kate?"

Wide eyes dart toward the sound of Castle's voice. The warmth of his hand finds its place on her forehead as she seeks out the lines of his face. His digits sweep over her skin with a feather touch, pushing a tangle of damp hair back into line, and she realises she's drenched in a cold sweat. A shiver trickles down her spine and she lifts one hand to cover his. He flips his palm, twines their fingers together with a gentle squeeze.

"Everything okay?" he murmurs.

She blinks once. Twice. She doesn't know.

"Yeah," she rasps all the same. The knot in her throat is coarse as she gulps it down, her chest constricting around the weight. "Fine."

The writer falls silent but doesn't leave. She knows he's already been up – the rich aroma of fresh coffee and wet hair are a testament to that – but instead he lays down beside her, slings one arm low at her back and draws her close. Warm lips press to her temple and her eyes flutter shut, revelling in the comfort of his embrace for just a moment longer.

Then a heavy breath finds its way from her lips and his eyes spark with understanding. He knows she needs to push on. "Breakfast?" he suggests. "Or just some coffee for now?"

She hums her agreement to the latter, not sure she can speak. Or stomach anything solid.

The press of his fingers against the curve of her spine lift away and his body rolls as he moves to slide back. She dives forward at the last moment, catches his lips with hers, slow and hot and desperate. She just –

Needs him.

* * *

The unease doesn't shake even when her feet hit the floor.

She knows he senses it. The way it trembles through her, even as she tries to tamp it down. Her back is to him but she knows his mouth is open, trying to find the right words.

"Kate - "

"'M fine," she shrugs off his concern. She doesn't want him to worry. She doesn't even know what this is.

He doesn't coddle her but moves to align his body with hers just the same, his weight solid and reassuring as he presses against her back. Warm palms slide up her arm, down, up again, smoothing out the goosebumps that still prick even now. Soft lips drop to graze the bare skin at her shoulder and her head lolls backward to fall into the crook of his neck.

He wants her to stay home with him. She wants to.

She can't.

"Coffee," she says quietly.

He still doesn't leave until she's already locking the bathroom door behind her.

* * *

The knots in her hair won't loosen, the bun she sweeps up messy and tangled. Her legs rock unsteadily as she stands in her power heels. Her head tilts to the left and she studies her reflection under the harsh bathroom lights. She looks – tired. Pale and thin. Weak. This summer hasn't been the easiest, on either of them.

But they're here now and still together.

She finds him by the front door, waiting for her. It all catches in her throat, just how much she loves him. This wonderful man that followed her to DC. Who opened his home to her when she wanted to move back. Who held her hand when she returned to find Esposito had been promoted over her at the Twelfth.

This wonderful man that has promised a life spent together.

Right now he stands strong, waiting patiently for her, and that alone holds her steady.

One eyebrow flicks up in her direction from across the room. "Ready?"

She hesitates. They both know he should be writing today. He doesn't have time to be following her to the Twelfth to keep an eye on her.

He calls for her again. "Kate?"

His face is smooth. Unyielding. Final.

The door snicks shut behind them and his keys tinkle together lightly as Castle locks up. When he's done she stretches her left hand out in offering, smiling when he takes it. The ring on her finger digs gently into her skin as their hands meet and it fills her up with an unfurling ball of warmth.

She follows him outside.

* * *

"Lunch?"

It's a sudden question but it doesn't startle her. He's done most of the talking this morning as she keeps quiet in contemplation.

When she doesn't answer, Castle quirks an eyebrow, his question pressing as it spreads silently across his face. She skipped breakfast and tipped out her cold and still full cup of coffee an hour ago but her stomach still rolls queasily at the idea of food.

"Soup?" he suggests. Her lips rub together. Something light.

She hums softly. "Yeah. Soup sounds good."

"You can stay," he offers. "I'll duck out and grab something for the both of us. You're busy."

She's not. They both know it. The first file she plucked from the stack is still open on the first page in front of her, her favourite black pen still lined neat in the top drawer.

"Antonio's?"

She gives a gentle shake her head. "Shanghai is closer."

Castle scrunches his face. "It's only a few blocks. And they have that warm cheese bread."

A pleasant sigh works its way out as she shivers a little against the cool day. The bread – oh, it does sound good.

His hand spreads broad over her shoulder, squeezes gently, then drops. "I'll be twenty minutes. Tops," he calls back over his shoulder.

And then he's gone.

If she'd known, she would have never let him go.

* * *

The phone is in her hand not two minutes later, thumb pressing down on his name. The dial tone is soft in her ear as she listens to one ring, two, three –

"The boys want food?" he picks up suddenly.

Beckett lets out a breath of laughter, the first of the day. "You picked it." She shoots the partners a glare as they crowd over her desk. "They just got back from talking with Gonzalez. Wouldn't leave until I called you."

"Tell them to stop pestering you. I'll pick up something for them too."

"If you don't mind?"

"'Course not."

With a nod the boys leave, sporting matching grins of smug satisfaction on their faces. She doesn't say anything for a moment after that. Just listens to the steady rhythm of his breathing as he weaves through the streets outside. The light sound slows her own heart, works to release the vice that's been gripping it since she woke.

Then he speaks up, quiet and unsure and so heartbreakingly concerned. "Kate, are you sure you're all right?"

Dark eyes slip shut as she breathes out slow. "I just - " She shakes her head. "I don't know. I feel a bit – off."

A moment of silence, then, "You know I love you, right?"

The smile tugs her lips upward, a light pink flushing her cheeks at the words they've whispered so many times before. "Of course," she murmurs a response. "I love - "

He never hears her finish.

There's a shout that sounds loud across the line, Castle's desperate call for someone to _move, move_. Tires squeal against the asphalt as a vehicle protests to a stop too late. A heavy, sickening crack of bone as a heavy weight slams into the pavement. A scream that echoes too loud inside her skull.

A sob shakes her body, her voice breaking as she whispers his name.

"Castle?"

There's no response.

* * *

She finds out all too late it wasn't her they should have been worrying about.

It was him.

* * *

_More to come.  
_

_kellisworld dot tumblr dot com_


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

She makes it to the corner just as the ambulance screeches to a halt.

The red and blue lights flash too bright before her eyes, the sirens alarming as they echo loud. Hurried shouts from the paramedics pound heavy at her skull, such a stark contrast to the hushed whispers of the onlooking crowd. She doesn't waste a beat to take any of it in, eyes wide, desperate, searching for him.

There's a car half-up on the sidewalk, its front bumper crumpled in on itself as it curls around a post. Dark smoke billows out from under the hood and – God. Her heart drops at the sight.

He's got to be there.

Air chokes in her throat as she dives forward, the anxiety knotting tight in her chest as she claws her way through the crowd. The call of his name falls ragged from her lips because he needs to know she's here, that she's coming for him. But when she finally emerges on the other side, she realises he can't hear her.

He isn't moving.

* * *

Castle lies limp on his back, anything but peaceful. His body is bruised and battered, limbs horrifyingly distorted, forced to bend at unnatural angles as he lays half-hidden beneath the wreck of the car. He's so absolutely still, so pale. The white wash of his face sets off the bright crimson staining his forehead. There's a long gash cutting close to his temple, a blackened graze that roughens his left cheek. And –

Beckett swallows hard as the acid burns up her throat but doesn't turn away. No. Because there's a deep red pool beneath his head that's spilling across the pavement entirely too quickly but – _oh_. He has to be alright.

"Castle?"

His name strangles deep in her throat, barely weeping out. She takes one step and stumbles forward, legs giving way to drop beside him.

One paramedic snaps for her attention. "Ma'am, you - "

She ignores him. "Castle?"

Nothing.

She fists her hands and fights the urge to reach for him, leaves the paramedics with enough room to work. "Castle?"

Nothing.

Again.

"_Castle_."

Her heart shatters at the silence.

* * *

She lifts her head to face the first paramedic, heart pounding hard behind its cage, a cold sweat beading at her temple. "Is he - "

"He's breathing," the man tells her.

_For now_ hangs unspoken in the air between them and her stomach takes a sharp dive. For a second, she thinks she's going to empty what little she's put into it, her weakened body shaking as it barely puts up a fight. But then she's surrendering to the cold tremble down her spine and crumpling onto the rough tar to lay beside Castle.

Above the blood rushing through her ears she's only vaguely aware of the paramedics voice. Something about moving? Her? Not happening. No. Instead she stretches unsteady fingers outward, the whorls on their tips sweeping feather-light across his cheek. She tries to brush away the blackening dirt, sweep back the hair matted with his blood. The sight of it all leaves her stomach curdling.

"Castle?"

Nothing. Then –

Four hands grip at her shoulders, elbows, waist. Their grip is strict, near the point of pain against the fragile ache of her body, and they hoist her up and backward.

"Beckett, you have to move."

Esposito. His voice is low in her ear, apologetic and torn. Stubborn.

"You have to let them do their job. You have to let them - "

Save his life.

Even with the logic in her mind she struggles against her friends, manages a weak kick at Ryan's shin and a frail elbow to Esposito's ribs. She can't leave Castle. She can't.

It's the siren that sets her off. The shrill whip that cuts through the air, hits something deep inside her. The adrenaline surges strong and sudden, burning, and she manages to land a hard elbow to Esposito's stomach that leaves him keeling over. Hands slip away, freeing her. She twists, dives forward, throws herself into the back of the ambulance.

She crawls up to sit beside Castle, and with a nod the paramedic closes the door behind her.

She doesn't have to leave him.

* * *

She's a mess.

The once white blouse is now smeared with dirt and ash and _God_ – his blood. The road wore a few holes through the material by her hip, leaving her skin exposed to the cool air blowing through the waiting room. A shiver shoots down her spine and she curls in on herself, fighting it off.

She was the one who made the call to Alexis. Martha too. She did it from the ambulance. Didn't want to waste time waiting for information on his condition because if the situation were reversed – if Alexis was the one who had to call her – she'd want to be here immediately.

Alexis had beat the ambulance to the hospital. The white anxiety etched on the girl's face had been the first thing to greet her when she stumbled into the waiting room. The girl sits opposite her now, eyes closed, head resting on her grandmother's shoulder.

The boys left. Went back to the Precinct on her request. _Find out what happened_ had been the only four words she'd spoken to them. They didn't need anything more. She didn't want anything from them. Empty words of reassurance would have only been suffocating.

The double doors at the end of the corridor swing open suddenly and her heart goes cold. It's been hours now but somehow she knows. This is it.

And then the doctor finally calls for them in that tone that does anything but provide comfort, too filled with sympathy and regret. "Family of Richard Castle?"

She's already out of her chair, one hand covering the gasp leaving her mouth. "He's - "

"Stable," the man finishes.

She's still not able to breathe, everything the doctor isn't saying hanging low and tense in the air.

"Mister Castle is very lucky. The worst is hopefully over." He gives a pregnant pause, then, "However, he will need quite some time to recover. The injuries he sustained to his head were quite severe. There was some swelling – nothing we couldn't get under control, but we're going to have to keep him under for a while longer. Give his body – and his mind – the best chance to heal."

A knot closes her throat. She swallows it hard, lets it fall heavy in her stomach. "How long?" she manages to rasp.

Another pause. "Most likely a few days, at the least."

"And then?"

"Once we reassess his injuries, we should be able to begin waking him up."

Martha and Alexis are still silent beside her, arms encircling one another, small figures shaking. Beckett cards tense fingers through tangled hair and finally asks the question they all want answered.

"Can we see him?"

* * *

He lays so very still, so unaware, swaddled in the plain white hospital blankets, the pale blue gown too large on his frame. They've cleaned the dirt away and the blood too. Without it his scars glow an angry red, set off by the white of the stitches holding his skin together.

There's bruising, too. A deep black and purple marking the ridge under his left eye from where his face connected with the ground. In the background the natural inhale of his breath never comes, replaced by the mechanical beep and hiss that pumps oxygen into his lungs. It's the wrong kind of noise. So wrong, and everything hits her all too sudden.

He was hit by a car.

Her nails scratch at the paint as she claws at the wall for purchase, desperately fighting her blackening vision as her head swims. Her eyes sting and she blinks fast, her throat burning as she gulps a breath into her lungs. Her heart – oh, her heart. It aches so deep, tears sharp.

"Katherine."

She blinks again, finds Martha's hand outstretched from where she sits beside her son. Somehow she finds the energy to stumble forward, to collapse down beside her writer. Unsteady fingers reach forward, slide up his own, tenderly brushing the back of his hand. Then she twines their hands together and lifts to graze her lips along his knuckles.

"Head home when you're ready," the doctor murmurs from the doorway. "Get some rest. There shouldn't be any change tonight."

It's not home without him.

* * *

The helplessness shakes through her body as she tries to unlock the door to the loft because he needs her, but there's nothing she can do.

Alexis shuffles inside behind her, then Martha. They're both exhausted. They hadn't wanted to leave but the sight of the man so strong and full of life lying limp was taking its toll – on all of them.

"First thing in the morning," she promises the two redheads.

They give twin nods, both sluggish. No one knows what to do. The silence of the loft is deafening without his laughter booming off the high ceilings. And as much as she wants to be there for Martha and Alexis –

She wants a moment alone to crumble.

"You'll wake me if you need anything?" she leaves them with a promise.

"Oh, Kate," Martha cries into her shoulder. "You do the same."

Grandmother and granddaughter disappear up the staircase then with hands clasped tight together, knuckles paling to a ghostlike white as the skin stretches over their balled hands. Only one light flicks on, a few dim rays spilling over the upstairs landing to light a faint path downstairs. They'll surely sleep in the same room tonight. For Beckett, she's left to disappear into his – their – bedroom.

Even with the adrenaline having long worn off to leave her running on empty, she knows she won't sleep tonight.

For the first time since she said yes, she's left to lie alone.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, and special thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._

_More to come soon._


	3. Chapter 3

Apologies for the many typos and grammatical errors in the last part. And any that are in this part. Or any other part. I'm tired.

* * *

**Three**

He saved a little girl's life.

That's what Esposito tells her. That the girl – barely ten years old – wasn't looking at the road, attention captured by the black Labrador across the street. The car flew around the block too fast and lost control. Castle dived forward, knocked her out of the way. She has a broken arm.

She also has her life.

But the man behind the wheel – he was still high. He should never have been driving. He knew that, and fled.

The cops on Castle's case are useless. It's Esposito and Ryan who track the driver down. In all the confusion, in all the panic over the writer lying motionless on the ground, the man had slipped from the wreck of a vehicle unnoticed.

They find him in Jersey just three days later. He's hauled in with a dislocated shoulder and a deep bruise over his eye socket.

"He tripped," Esposito tells Gates with an offhanded shrug.

Beckett smiles for the first time in days.

* * *

A week comes and goes. Castle doesn't wake up.

Doctor Young reassures them there's still brain activity. That he's breathing on his own. He just – won't wake.

"It's a long healing process," he tells them. "Mister Castle might not be ready to wake up just yet."

"And there's nothing you can do to help him?" She bites down hard against her raspy words when the doctor shakes his head.

"We can pull back on the morphine but in the end, we don't want to rush him. We'll give it a few more days and try again."

They try again. It doesn't work.

Beckett chokes back a sob as her thin frame collapses onto the bathroom floor. She shakes violently, shoves a fist in her mouth to muffle the broken sounds.

She needs her writer back.

* * *

She steals a moment alone with him when Martha and Alexis duck out for lunch. It's horrible, makes her stomach twist sick with just the thought, but she's thankful for the reprieve from their grief. Keeping up the façade they need to see is draining.

Alone now, finally alone, she drags her aching body into the chair beside his bed. It's cold in here and so she zips yesterday's sweatshirt up, body curling inward as she sits by his side. Trembling fingers dance along his knuckles, her hands shaking just the same as she tenderly palms his own and lift it to her lips. Her lips press a whisper of a kiss to the grazed skin on back of his hand and she squeezes gently, hopes it's enough. It's all she can give.

The last time she was in this hospital flashes to the forefront of her mind and she wonders whether this is what it was like for him. To be so powerless that it crushes down hard. To have thin strands of hope sink away with each passing hour.

Beckett swallows hard and closes her eyes against the swimming room. One deep breath in, two. He's steady. He'll pull through.

She chokes in a ragged breath and hopes to God he'll pull through.

* * *

She doesn't visit him the third week.

She's pregnant. Six weeks. They didn't know. Not until she passes out after a third failed attempt to wake Castle up. All the stress becomes too much and her body can't cope.

Her doctor orders bed rest. Martha takes her home and tells her to put her feet up while she puts on a pot of soup. The woman is an angel, but Beckett sees it in her hollow eyes.

She misses her son.

After three days she sends Martha back to the hospital. Her father comes instead.

"Katie," he murmurs, taking a careful seat on the end of the bed.

A weak smile is all she manages. "I'm okay."

It's a lie. Otherwise he wouldn't be here to help cook and clean and do near everything for her. But she's not taking any risks. Not when it comes to this.

"How's Rick?" Her father's been to visit more than a few times, but they don't often cross paths. He goes early in the morning or later into the night. Doesn't want others to see his hurt. Just like her.

"He's stable." Always stable. Her heart clenches at the thought of the alternative, but the desperation for him to wake is eating at her something fierce.

"Martha and Alexis mentioned they were heading to the hospital."

She nods, biting down on the bitter jealousy. She wants to go with them. "They go every day."

"And you?"

"Yeah." She had been going every day too.

Most of the days are spent in silence, eyes misting as they wait for his to open. Some days they take shifts though. Morning, noon, night. Divided up so they can spend time alone with the man who's ingrained himself so deep into all their lives.

The boys have stopped by a few times too. They come with news about his case – assure her the driver's been charged, that bail isn't an option. Castle's status and the publicity helps. The man won't be let off easy.

* * *

The coma shouldn't last more than four weeks, the doctor tells them.

Week five begins without any change. The start of the new week is the first time since she was let off bed rest that she goes home before nightfall.

The nights spent alone aren't the loneliest, though. The bed is too big without him lying beside her, yes. And cold, too. She more than often tugs the heavy comforter tight around her and closes her eyes and, for just a moment, tricks herself into believing its his arms encircling her.

It's the mornings that are the hardest, the emptiest, that leave her ragged and raw. It's the mornings that leave her gasping awake on a choked breath to find she's drenched in a cold sweat. It's the mornings after the nights spent dreaming of him. It's the mornings when she wakes to find out he's not here with her.

She wants him to be here with her.

* * *

Whenever they're alone, she passes the time by telling him all about their baby.

"He's kicking like crazy. All the time," she murmurs close to his ear, slim fingers idly stroking back his flop of hair. Needs a cut. "It's – surreal. Amazing. Doesn't help me sleep at night, though." She doesn't mention how that's okay. Keeps the dreams at bay.

"Alexis says I should stop calling him a boy," she half-laughs. "She swears it's going to be a girl. Not that we know. Didn't want to find out without you."

Her hand slips from his forehead, over his shoulder, trails down his arm. Her fingers tuck underneath his own, twining them loose.

"I haven't got much longer though, though. Only about six weeks left. Doctor Sal – have I told you about her? You'd love her." She shakes her head. "Sal knows. It's all in her file. Your mother tells me I should find out. Says the luxury of knowing will be easier."

The sigh drags heavy in her throat, and she presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth to hold it back. She doesn't want to find out. Not without him. But –

It's been six months with no change, and their child needs her too.

"I need you to wake up, Castle," she rasps, her head bowing. "I need you."

One finger twitches as she holds his hand in hers, almost as if he hears her. Her heart pounds a little harder but it's not unusual. The twitches and grunts are often, all the grief and hope and heartache they gave in the beginning commonplace now. She grazes her mouth over his knuckles and sweeps her thumb in a tender circle, tries to settle him.

But then his finger is pressing against her palm again, a little stronger, more insistent. It's instinct, the stretch of her hand toward the call button. She catches herself at the last second, pauses. This has happened before. So many times. It's probably nothing. No point calling for help.

Her hand drops and she twists back around in her seat.

His eyes are open.

Her heart is already climbing into her throat even as her mind keeps rational. It's happened before. He's opened his eyes before and it's always nothing. But this time -

"Kate."


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

She knows the odds.

She knows there's every chance he'll slip back under. She knows there's every chance he'll face ongoing problems. But God – to hear her name on his lips, even ragged and strained with disuse –

Oh. She's missed it so much.

Her body dives forward at the sound, presses up against the mattress as she bends low and close, both palms splayed across each of his cheeks and her breath catching in her throat. "Castle?"

He grunts, blinks twice, then manages another weak, "Kate."

The tears spring fast and her eyes close for just a moment as she blinks them away. Her heart pounds as she opens them again, afraid it's not real, that it's just the same dream she's been dreaming of for months now.

It's not. His blue eyes are still open, sparkling up at her. She presses a hand over her mouth to swallow the sob that wrecks her stomach and smooths a gentle hand across his forehead. "You're okay," she murmurs. "You're okay."

His eyes shift around the room, hazy and confused. She takes the chance to press the call button and drops a sweet kiss to his temple.

"You're okay," she whispers into his ear.

He's asleep again before the doctor responds.

* * *

She cries when she has to go home that night.

He's asleep and unaware. Won't miss her – she knows that. But her stomach rolls with the thought of him waking again, alone this time, panicked and confused without her there.

Alexis hovers as they drag their weary bodies into the loft. She wants to hear what happened, again and again, blue eyes darker than usual, desperate and pleading. The girl wants her to give hope that her father will wake again and the guilt that Alexis wasn't at the hospital today digs a slow pit in her stomach. It was Beckett's suggestion that the two redheads take the afternoon off.

It's Martha who finally gives her a reprieve, older eyes soft and understanding as they flick to her own. "Alexis, darling," she calls soft for her granddaughter. "Help me heat these leftovers?"

The girl rubs her lips together then shuffles over slow. A heavy breath finds its way from Beckett's lips and she excuses herself, heads for the bedroom. An open palm on the door pushes it closed behind her with a gentle snick before her head drops against the smooth wood.

She needs a minute alone.

She wishes she wasn't still alone.

* * *

It's another day before he wakes again, her name rough on his tongue.

"Kate."

She flies from her chair, leaning close. "Castle." One hand strokes the soft hair back off his face, the other tenderly cups his broad hand in her palm.

He blinks, unfocused eyes straining to train on hers. "Kate."

"I'm here," she murmurs, bowing her head low until their foreheads kiss. "You're okay."

"Kate."

He slips back under.

* * *

Alexis is the first to break at the step backward.

The young girl claps both hands over her mouth, tries to muffle the sob cracking in her throat. Tears spill from her powder blue eyes, stain her cheeks, tinging them in streaks of red. Martha stands small beside her, slips her arms around the girl's slender figure.

"This is a good sign," the grandmother whispers. "But it will take time."

Alexis nods slow. She knows. Doesn't mean it isn't still painstaking.

Beckett excuses herself and heads down the hall in search of Castle's doctor. Barbara stops her instead, the grey-haired nurse that's watched over them the past few months. Shadows fall across her deep green eyes as her head tilts compassionately.

"Everything okay, Honey?"

She swallows a heavy lump that doesn't move, clogs her throat, leaves her rasping. "Castle woke up again."

Barbara offers a tight smile. "I'll find Doctor Young. You just sit tight."

Collapsing into the old chair outside Castle's room, Beckett digs her front teeth into her lower lip to stop it from quivering. Her head bows, falling heavy into her hands as her elbows balance precariously atop her knees. They've already been put through the ringer with this. She just needs him to wake up.

"Kate." Her head lifts at the sound of Doctor Young's voice, finds him rushing down the white halls toward her. "I hear Castle's awake?"

The shake of her head has never felt so heavy. "Not anymore."

The light slips from the doctor's face, matches the dull lines on her own. He places a warm hand on her shoulder and nods at the door to Castle's room. "Let's head inside and talk, okay?"

* * *

"It's not uncommon for coma patients to experience varying degrees of awareness," Young tells them soft, his face weary as his dark eyes flick between them.

They're gathered in the corner of Castle's room, the writer lying unaware behind them. One of Alexis' knees keeps shaking and Martha's eyes brim with tears. Kate stands on her own opposite them and keeps her eyes trained on Castle's doctor.

Alexis speaks up, voice tiny. "Why does he keep slipping back under so quickly?"

The doctor nods once and glances at Castle's chart. "His vitals are strong, so there's no cause for concern there. It does seem that he's trying to wake up. He just might be having some difficulty. These things take time. As much as we'd like one, there's no magical solution."

"How much time?" Alexis rasps. Beckett watches her blink heavy, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Days. Weeks." Young sighs. "It's hard to tell. That he's speaking is a definite improvement."

Beckett clears her throat but pauses, a little hesitant. "He just – he keeps saying my name. Over and over. Nothing else." She presses her lips into a tight line. "Should we be worried?"

Doctor Young shrugs, a little too nonchalant, as if he doesn't know. "Yes and no," he selects his words carefully. "If it continues, there may be some underlying problem we haven't been able to find in the scans we've taken so far."

Alexis presses her face into her grandmother's shoulder as a silent sob shakes her body. Beckett swallows hard and presses a steadying palm against her stomach. The idea that Castle might never be able to communicate properly again – that he won't be the same man with those wonderful words – twists her heart sharp. It's all he's ever known.

"Please try not to worry just yet," Young tells them. "We'll cross that bridge if it comes to it. Right now, we'll keep a close eye on his progress."

They stay as long as they can, well into the night, keeping a constant vigil in wait of him to wake again. He doesn't.

A glance down at her wrist finds the hands of her father's watch ticking past eleven. Visiting hours are long over, the nurses kind enough to let them stay. But now her back is aching from sitting in the hard chair all day and she needs to head home, get something into her stomach more nutritious than cafeteria food and take her vitamins.

She lifts her eyes to study Martha and Alexis to find the older woman's eyes already on her, swimming with understanding. "I think it's time we head home," Martha murmurs softly into Alexis' ear.

The young girl sighs heavy but nods. "Yeah. Okay."

With a final squeeze to her father's hand, Alexis lets it slip from her grasp as she rises from her seat. Beckett mimics the action, adds a soft press of her lips to Castle's temple. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as her lips hover at his skin, unwilling to say goodbye just yet. But then she pulls back and her dark eyes open, blinking against the fluorescent light that spills in from the hallway.

She's not even out of her chair when she hears it.

"Kate."

Her heart beats quick with a sudden adrenaline spike, body spinning back toward him fast. "Castle?"

His eyes are open, clouded and unfocused until she leans closer and they catch hers.

"Kate."

No. Please. Anything else. Say anything else.

"Daddy?"

Alexis' broken voice cuts through the silence, desperate and pleading. "Daddy, please."

Castle's eyes flutter, fighting the pull to slip back under. Beckett squeezes his hand and tries again. "Castle. Can you hear me?"

His eyes stop fluttering, resting only half-open. "The - " His voice drops out, as if in pain to speak. He tries again. "The girl."

Her heart soars. The girl. Oh -

"The girl on the street?" she whispers.

He gives the weakest of nods, a faint agreement flickering in his tired eyes.

"She's fine, Castle. You saved her life."

And for the first time in six months, she sees a smile crack free on his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

He slips back under before they can tell him everything that's happened. It's not until morning does he wake again. That's when his eyes swing low and his jaw falls slack.

The orderlies come in as usual, help him shift so he sits upright. It's the extra height that makes the difference, allow his eyes to catch what the mattress has been hiding. She sees it on his face when his eyes fall to her stomach, the surprise etching deep into his expression, reflecting in those blue eyes.

"Kate?"

She's only vaguely aware of Martha and Alexis slipping from the room as one of her hands comes to rest on his. "Yeah," she murmurs.

"How - " He clears his throat and tries again. It's still rough from months of disuse. "How far along?"

She doesn't know whether to smile or not. Settling for somewhere in between, she shapes her lips into a thin line. "'Bout seven months."

Castle blinks slow, taking it in. "Did you know? Before?"

Before he was hit by the car. It still rolls uneasy in her stomach.

She shakes her head. "No. I found out a few weeks after." The part where she nearly lost the baby is swallowed away.

He huffs a little and looks to the other side of the room. If he had more energy, he'd run frustrated fingers through his hair or pace back and forth. But he doesn't. He has to save it for physical therapy. That begins as soon as he can stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

Then comes his voice, tired and devastated. "I've missed so much."

The legs of the chair scratch loud on the linoleum floor as she kicks it back to dive toward him. One hand catches under his chin to turn his eyes back to hers, the other squeezes his hand resting warm in her palm. "You haven't," she promises softly. "You haven't at all."

He's stubborn, shakes his head. "I should have been there for you."

The realization trickles cold down her spine as she watches him close up. He blames himself for what happened. For leaving them alone for six empty months.

"This isn't your fault." Her voice strains as she stresses the point, emotion clogging her throat. "You hear me? None of this is your fault."

He closes his eyes and doesn't believe her. "I need a moment alone."

* * *

She gives him five minutes then sends Martha and Alexis in. They can't talk any sense into him either. He shoos them all away when Doctor Young enters to check up on him.

She doesn't leave. He ignores her. She sits in silence and waits for him to come around.

He balks when the orderlies come into the room with a wheelchair, ready to take him for a round of scans.

"I don't need that," he growls at them.

They don't startle or exchange glances, as if they were expecting this, the stubborn pride of a man determined to pretend nothing has changed. "Sir - "

"No." Castle shakes his head and weakly throws back the blanket with a shaking arm. He balls two fists and pushes them into the mattress either side of his hips, forces his neglected muscles into action and tries to slide off the edge.

He falls.

The orderlies catch him just in time, his body sagging as they hold him off the ground. She gasps in a ragged breath that sits tight in her chest and wheels over the chair, waits for the two men to help him sit before turning with a soft plea. "Can you give us a moment alone?"

Castle huffs as they leave with a silent nod. "Kate," he growls around gritted teeth. He doesn't want her here.

"No."

He throws his head to the side and keeps his eyes averted low, an attempt to hide the frustration and embarrassment she's already seen. "I don't want - "

"I'm not leaving." Like hell she's leaving him to do this all alone. Not when she knows first hand how hard it's about to get.

A heavy sigh slips from his lips. "I'm too tired to play one of your stubborn games."

That hurts.

Flinching, she recoils back in her chair, her hand slipping from where she'd been inching it forward on the mattress. Her eyes sting as she fights the water already brimming. "You think this is a game to me?"

He doesn't answer.

"None of this is a game, Castle," she chokes out. "Seeing your body bloody and bruised and pinned beneath a car wasn't a game. Waiting hours for them to tell me you were still alive wasn't a game. Six months of grunts and twitches and eyelids flickering, and every time thinking that _this is it, this time you're finally going to wake up_ wasn't a game."

The devastation spreads fast across the drained lines of his face, setting dark bruises on the rim below his eyes. It all catches in her throat and she falls silent, thinking she's pushed him too far.

Then finally, _finally_, he opens his eyes, leaving him naked and exposed. The brightness of those crystal blues have shattered, now swimming with regret and grief and helplessness.

"I've missed so much," he rasps.

Her heart clenches tight and she moves for him, presses her lips warm to his temple, leaves them lingering as she drops her forehead to meet his.

"You don't have to miss any more."


	6. Chapter 6

One final thank you to everyone who has supported this little story. Extra special thanks to GT500RonSmith for coming up with and so wonderfully letting me use the idea of including a scene with the little girl Castle saved.

* * *

**Epilogue**

He's asleep when she slips into their bedroom, lying on his right side with his legs tucked against his chest. It's not surprising that he sleeps a lot these days but he's recovering fast and strong, taking everything as it comes.

It had been three weeks of endless tests and scans and gruelling physical therapy before they'd finally been allowed to bring Castle home. The therapy had been testing, on all of them. Regaining strength in his unused muscles had been slow, left him drained. He'd been frustrated as hell, cursed more times than since she'd met him. He'd also never once given up.

And when the therapist had given him the all clear and he'd looked at her with those wide puppy dog eyes, she couldn't say no. Just pressed her lips into a thin line and hovered with butterflies in her stomach as he'd walked the short distance from the car to the loft on trembling legs. She had to try even harder not to crumble when the bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he'd collapsed onto the couch.

But then the bright blue of his eager eyes as he'd soaked in everything familiar had melted the tension sitting hard in her stomach, left her loose and unable to bite down on the smile blossoming at his excitement. Because after seven long, exhausting, lonely months, he was finally home.

Now she closes the door behind her with a gentle snick and pads barefoot across the room. Her eyes trace Castle's sleeping figure for just a moment before they're shifting, falling to rest on their baby boy beginning to stir in the bassinet beside the bed. He's a champion sleeper – just like his father. Also has Castle's need for attention.

Beckett leans low, tucks both hands under Isaac's little body and lifts him gently into the cradle of her arms. His head falls against her chest, tired eyes only half-open as he struggles to look up at her. A warm ball of adoration unfurls in her chest, sends a smile onto her lips, so free and loving.

"'S he okay?"

Her body turns at the sound of Castle's voice, hoarse with sleep, finds him pushing himself upright to sit with his back flush against the headboard. She offers a gentle nod and murmurs soft. "Yeah. Just waking up."

One of his broad hands pats the spot on the bed beside him but she needs no encouragement, already scooting across the sheets. He rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes like a child then lowers it to smooth his fingers across his son's sleepy head.

"Thank you," he says suddenly, voice low and sincere.

She tears her eyes from her son's grey ones to face Castle, his blue eyes swimming with everything he wants to say. "For what?"

A smile spills onto his lips and he breathes out slow. "For everything. For never giving up on me. For holding it together for Zach. I know it couldn't have been easy."

She shrugs it off, lets her eyes fall away. There was never a question about it.

But Castle doesn't relent, edging himself closer to her, hot mouth falling to press open kisses along the collarbone left exposed as Isaac weighs her shirt down.

"You're incredible," he whispers against her skin.

Beckett shakes her head. No. Not her. He's the incredible one.

Madeleine. That was the name of the little girl he saved. She came with her parents to the rehab centre the day before Castle was released, stuffed dog toy tucked under one arm as a gift offering and a jar of bright pink glitter in the other. From where she'd half-hid her small body behind her mother's legs, her azure eyes were shy as she peered up at Castle. It had only taken one beaming smile for the girl to be enchanted with him.

"This isMilo." Madeleine's smile was innocent as she'd stretched high on the balls of her feet, the scraggly brown dog held up high toward Castle in an offering. "He's for you. Kate says you don't have a dog."

His eyes had glittered as they'd flicked to hers for just a second, the corners of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a smirk. She was the one who had vetoed a dog.

"And this is some fairy dust." Madeline had passed the jar to Castle, the bright glitter spilling across his pale skin from a gap in the lid. "I've been collecting it from the Tooth Fairy. It will help you get better."

The jar sits in their bedroom now, perched atop the table beside the bed, the tiny specks of pink sparkling against the dark wood. When his muscles are stiff in the middle of the night and he can't get up to soothe the sound of Isaac's cries, the jar is what he grabs. He'll roll the glass over in his hands once, twice, remind himself why he has to sacrifice a few moments in his son's life.

He saved a little girl's life.

His lips continue a path across the bare expanse of her skin and she shudders under the warmth of his breath. Her body lists into him and she pulls her chin up to meet his mouth in a soft, teasing kiss. It showers sparks behind her eyes, bursts inside her chest.

He breaks away slow, their noses flirting as he wraps his fingers in her curls. They've grown darker over the last year, and just before Isaac she had it all cut a little shorter, but he seems to love it. She often wakes to the tender feel of his fingers raking gentle through her hair, the work of his lips against her hairline, mapping out the contour of her face.

At the beat of her son's fist against her chest she draws back, slides her gaze down. The boy in her arms squirms a little, blinks wide, those crystal blue eyes that match his father's demanding attention. There's a soft chuckle beside her before Castle's broad arms are sliding underneath hers, fingers working gently against her skin until she passes the boy over. He tucks the infant against his chest, shoots a broad smile that has Isaac's face lighting up.

Beckett presses her fingers to her lips, keeping silent as she watches her two boys share this intimate moment. There's a tender tug to her heart, a gentle peace warm as it floats deep inside her chest.

Everything she wants aside, she's thankful Isaac has his father.

* * *

_Complete_


End file.
